


Cracked But Not Smashed

by Devona_Dil



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Axe torture, Dissociation, Foxes protecting each other, Gen, Hysteria, M/M, Neil gets cut at the end of the first chapter, Neil's 'putting off feeling' in intense situations comes back to haunt him, Neil's first game after Lola's most recent abuse, Neil's past traumas, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Psychological Trauma, Violence, and chapters after that have a major warning for '10 y/o Nathaniel gets tortured', basically Baltimore warnings, by Lola, hit me up on tumblr if you need more details :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:48:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devona_Dil/pseuds/Devona_Dil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Neil is always fine. He's just tired."</p><p> OR</p><p>After his 'reunion' with Lola, Neil hasn't been sleeping well, but for the past couple of days, he hasn't slept at all... not a wink. And so when his Foxes ask if he's ok, Neil becomes slightly unhinged in the face of it all, and his manic grin brings up a few memories he'd rather bury...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Hey, Neil," Abby said in a hushed voice, "Are you okay? You're looking a bit... tired. I know this must have been hard, being on the court for the first time sinc-"

Neil cut her off with a blunt, "No. It wasn't. I'm fine."

They were all gathered in the lounge, waiting on Coach to finish sorting through his notes from last week’s game. Today was the Monday after Neil’s first game since Binghamton and his 'reunion' with Lola. He thought he'd handled it pretty well - smashed it, to be honest - Neil played like he had everything to lose, and they'd won. And yet... it had been days since Neil had put head-to-pillow and he was starting to go a bit stir-crazy. He'd breezed past the point of exhaustion a while ago and now he was starting to lose his cool.

Andrew, sat on the couch seat next to him, turned his head slightly, and the other Foxes looked over. Having spoken out loud, Neil realised this was probably the first time in a few days he'd done that – let the words out. Neil guessed Abby was trying to do him a favour by keeping her voice low, but he couldn't actually dredge up enough energy to care.

"I'm fine!" Neil declared. He knew the others made fun of his 'catch phrase', but it was the truth, and all of a sudden, he was sick and tired of people asking him if he's 'ok'. Of course he is! He's Neil-freaking-Josten! He didn't break when his father sliced apart his childhood, taking away the feeling of safety parents are  _supposed_  to give their children. He didn't break when his people tried to carve and bully him into becoming a monster. He didn't break during the years of running and hiding and pulses of ice-cold fear to the belly. He didn't break when Riko-fuckface-Moriyama took it upon himself to torture scream after scream from him. So, he sure as  _hell_ isn't going to break just because of a few burns given by a very much  _dead_  Lola, and a few creative threats from his very much  _dead_  father. He is Neil-freaking-Josten. He isn't afraid of ghosts and his Foxes know that.

He is always fine. He's just tired.

And yet, conversation had ground to a halt, and all eyes were fixed on Neil. It seemed like the temperature of the room suddenly dropped, and Neil could practically feel the concern emanating from the players sitting around him.

"What?" Neil demanded.

Dan edged a little off her seat at Matt's side, and carefully said Neil's name - like she was afraid, or something. In fact, they all looked a little tense, just sitting there, staring at him. All except Andrew, who still favoured Neil with his patented bored expression, though he, too, had turned to face him now.

Neil was too tired for this. Too tired to eat. Too tired to run. Too tired to analyse his teammates. A few weeks ago, he would have been worried that they were close to figuring out who he is... was... that they might have begun to fear him like they should. But, even after laying it all out for them, they still stuck by him - kept him. Neil knew then that he would never have to worry about them throwing him away or holding his past against him. But  _he_ still had to worry about  _them_  - apart from Andrew, and possibly Renee, they didn't really know the true depths of human depravity and cruelness. They didn't know the lengths to which some people will go, just to inflict pain and torment. He had to protect them as best he could, just like they protect him. But... he's just so tired; too tired even for sleep.

A half-strangled snicker escaped his lips, which was the moment when Neil realised he was already smiling. He lifted a hand to his face, and brushed his fingertips over his mouth. A fluttering buzz made its way through his empty stomach - Neil already knew whose smile he was wearing, but he couldn't quite believe it and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't release the muscles to pull his smile off. The edges of the world were filling with fog and his Foxes were looking at him like there was something wrong... like there was something wrong with _him_.

Another giggle made its way out from behind his teeth; he was too broken, and his team too kind. He just knew they would do anything for him. And he shouldn't _let_ _them_. Guilt and something too painful to name thrashed in his stomach, but his brain wasn't working right then, and for some reason this was… funny? Really funny in fact... that he had started life in the dregs of the world, surrounded by pain and brutality - Lola's manic smile and his father's cold blades. And now… Now, Neil was surrounded by a family he could never have dreamed of: accepting, brave and fearless when it came to protecting their own. Though perhaps less so in this instance: protecting Foxes from themselves has always been the bigger battle anyway.

"Neil," Dan whispered again, inching closer. "Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

Her weight was almost centred completely on the balls of her feet now, leaning off the upperclassmen couch, keeping eye contact while Neil's eyes kept sliding all over the place. Kevin had gone pale, and the look on his face said it all: he'd seen this smile before too.

"I'm fine!" Neil roared, making Dan and Nicky start. Neil could feel the grin etched into his face getting wider, and Lola's face flashed behind his eyes; his jaw ached, and his skin felt like it had stretched too far to ever relax again. And still he smiled. He literally couldn't help it. It hurt, and he didn't care. It was possible Neil was losing his mind. All that putting-off feeling - that true sadness and heartache of being hurt by the ones who are supposed to protect you. All that running and 'just make it through the pain: react later'... maybe it was catching up with him. And if it was, what did it mean that he was grinning like a maniac... like _Lola?_ If only his burned-out mind could realise he was scaring his family, maybe he'd be able to stop. But, the world was tilting, Neil was grinning, and Kevin was crying.

"Kevin! Why are you crying?" Neil's unfocused eyes spun over the silent tears sliding down Kevin's chin - he couldn't remember seeing Kevin cry before... he couldn't remember what had happened to make Kevin cry. He could barely remember where he was...

"Kevin?" Neil's head snapped to the side, as quick as a pigeon, and a twinge of heat rushed through his neck, but he didn't flinch. It didn't hurt. "Why are you crying, Kevin?"

He heard a broken sound come from the back of Kevin's throat, and all save Andrew and Wymack now looked to Kevin, who had started to ever so slightly quiver.

Apparently, this was too much mystery for Aaron who let out a demanding, "What the hell is going on. Neil, what's wrong with your face and what the fuck is Day's issue now? What did I miss?"

A sharp gesture and glint of silver silenced Andrew's twin, but Andrew's eyes never left Neil's face, not that Neil was looking at him - he was already laughing, mouth wide enough the see his molars.

" _Wrong_ ,” Neil screeched, probably bursting a few ear drums.

It was clear to those around him, that this was a Neil they had never encountered, one that seemed to be losing that control he holds onto ever so tightly - and it was also clear the Foxes had no idea what to do. Hands fluttered uselessly over thighs, hair was nervously re-tucked behind ears. The frigid silence of the room was only broken by the hum of air conditioning and the insane sounds tearing through Neil's throat. It wasn't laughter.

This wasn't funny.

Neil, though, didn't seem to get the memo. "Wrong!" Neil choked out through a gap in his hacking wheezes. "Nothing’s _wrong_ , Aaron? Why are you sobbing, Kevin? Nothing’s wrong.” Neil's eyes spun out again, up and sideways and down. The over-stretched smile never left his face, but he stopped laughing for a moment.

He looked down at the ground, where the glimmers of a memory he didn’t want to remember lay in wait. His subconscious whispering how very wrong it all was.

Then his head whipped round, at the sound of another sniffle from Kevin. Again his horribly bright Cheshire cat grin burned bright, and Kevin flinched.

"Kevin! Kevin Kevin Kevin. Why are you crying, Kevin?" Neil asked, as if he hadn’t just asked that about a thousand times already. But, it didn't seem like Kevin was quite able to talk yet. His lips had paled and he, too, had a fuzzy, unfocused look to his green eyes.

Dan was crouched in front of Neil now, with a hand atop her shoulder that wasn't hers. Neil's head darted to the right to see behind her, dragging the top half of his body with him as if there was no strength left in it. Seeing Matt behind Dan, Neil snapped back, quick flashes of movement that made everyone more uncomfortable than they already were… if that were possible. Neil knew the hand was for support; Neil knew Matt loved him just as much as Dan and all the other foxes did. That hand wasn't there to pull Dan back if Neil decided to get violent because Matt knew he never would. Why do his Foxes care? Why do they trust him so? He's just-

"Nei-" Dan started, her voice a little more than a whisper.

"Dan. Hey, Dan. I think I figured it out, Have you? Have you figured it out?" There was no filter. His filter had gone and that should scare him to death. He'd spent every waking minute since he can remember keeping secrets, and he trusted himself to be able to do so. He had to. He was Nathaniel Wes- Wait, was that right? No. Wait. God, so tired. tiredtiredtired. Why isn't he sleepy. Why is he wide awake? Why does his face not hurt - it hurt a second ago, didn't it? A year ago? Time wasn't making sense. Wait - he'd just told Dan he'd figured something out. What was it?

Horror was now apparent on most of the Foxes faces - when had he stopped talking? Was he still talking?

Neil's eyes snapped back to his Captain, "Dan! Dan Dan! I think I figured out what's wrong with Day. Aren't you proud of me, Dan?" Neil was jabbering faster than he could comprehend the jagged half-sentences coming out of his mouth.

"...Ye-" Dan started slowly, probably not wanting to tip Neil's potential psychotic break one way or the other, but Neil had already jerked his head back towards Kevin, with an audible crack that seemed to emanate from his neck. Andrew's fingers twitched towards Neil, and Nicky whimpered quietly.

It didn't hurt.

"Kevin! Talk to me - did I get it right? Is that why you’re sad? Is it? Because I've seen that look before, haven't I? I did, didn't I?" Neil said, too quickly for most of the Foxes to hear all the half-aborted sentences emanating from Neil's hoarse throat.

If it were possible, his smile stretched further, and a few more tendons strained out of his neck, as if wanting to split his skin from the inside out and release themselves. Neil's movements were lightening quick as he looked to the rest of his team, maybe wanting to see something... pride... in Neil, maybe. He was starting to think back to his buried childhood, a time with no pride. Only adults hurting him because Nathaniel was too shameful to be part of the family. Wait - no, Neil. Neil, now. Not Nathaniel. Why is there so much fog stopping his thoughts from swimming clearly. What is this stupid bog that his mind had become...

Also, his Foxes aren't looking at him with pride for figuring it out – they’re still scared. Nicky always had a smile. Now he looks shocked  _and_  scared.

Yeah.

Nicky's probably just staggered and disappointed that Neil could break down.  _Yes_ , how  _dare_  Neil crack? He is a Fox. Foxes don't break. Is this breaking? They all look scared. For him - but they shouldn't be because Neil's just N-

"Nggh" Kevin let out, "Y-You-" Kevin's voice coming back to him it seemed.

"I know, Kevin! Aren't you proud of me? You always say I need to  _see_  more. See the angles when I play. I can see you, Kevin. I think I know what's wrong," Neil said, starting to spin ever downwards, away from here and to a place he never wanted to go again. He never thought he'd have to. Who'd a’ thunk it? Nathaniel Wesninski, taking after Lola instead of his father. There's a debate somewhere in there: nature... nurture... something or other. I'm sure if he had just a _few_ hours of sleep under his belt, he'd be able to think on it. But, now there's more static in Neil's head than coherent thought.

"YOu- Your face-" Kevin stuttered out, "It's  _hers_ ", as if that was supposed to be this big reveal. Idiot. Exy-idiot. Fox-idiot. Our idiot. 

"Um..." Aaron started, but Neil was already laughing again.

Here he was, surrounded by his Foxes, and he still couldn't escape the life he'd left behind.  _Leave Nathaniel buried in Baltimore with his father_. It was never going to be that easy. He should tell Andrew that… if only he could stop laughing first.

Maybe he  _was_  sharing his inner monologue with the world (it wouldn't surprise him to be honest, everything else in the sanity department has gone to shit), because Andrew's knife was in his hand, and stretching outward – Andrew’s knives always fit so snugly in his hands, belonging there… to protect and defend. He wondered if his manic grin had pushed Andrew over an edge from just _wanting_ him dead, to actually _doing_ something about it. Hmm, he thought in that motel in Baltimore... oh well. He laughed a bit harder. He was just thinking about blades, wasn't he? No... should have been - god, this brain-fog would be incredibly infuriating if he had the energy to care - he needs to tell Kevin something. A memory. He needs to tell him he remembers it, doesn't he? Has he done it already? No, he needs to tell Kevin. Why is this important? God, it's getting so hard to remember.

He can feel himself slipping.

Andrew's knife was reaching forward, but it went Aaron's way instead of his. Neil thought this was a tad unfair, Aaron  _was_  a complete arsehole, but it wasn't as if he'd done anything wrong this time. Neil was the one who was making Kevin cry.  _Was_  he still crying? Maybe? It's all so funny. Neil. Neil Neil Neil. The man who said he'd play exy until the day he died, figuring it wouldn't be more than a couple of months. The man who was committed to staying alone - having an actual family.

...And making them cry. They shouldn't cry for him. He was just N-

Neil reached out, quick as a dart, and clenched his fist around the carbon-steel throwing knife. There was a gasp from someone, and Andrew dropped the knife - the handle was heavier than the tapering blade, and so, as it slid from his clenched fist, he felt the skin of his palm and a strip across his fingertips, parting. It didn't hurt… just a flash of white heat and the skin opening where it wasn’t supposed to. Air hit the nerves that had never been exposed before. Shouldn’t this hurt?

He smiled wider.

Kevin wailed.

Andrew watched the blade clatter to the floor.

Lola's face flashed behind Neil's eyes again... as well as another memory. Blood.

Kevin remembered that memory too.

Drip.

Neil started giggling again. Drip. Andrew stared Neil's hand, floating in the air; a half fist, holding nothing, slowly pouring blood.

Neil's already forgotten it, he looks to Kevin, "You do remember, don't you?"

A hesitant nod from Kevin.

Andrew looked into Neil's eyes, and Neil holds that gaze. Those hazel eyes could always hold Neil.

The world was spinning, but Andrew's eyes held onto Neil; tethering him to the moment. Neil could feel his... not  _secrets_  - he had given the Foxes all his secrets in Baltimore - but Neil could feel memories coming to the surface. Bad memories. Ones he should keep buried. That would be better wouldn't it? Maybe he and Kevin should just keep these memories buried. He could save the Foxes from ever knowing some of the more horrific days in the Wesninski  _household_. He could just carry on: push these fears and echoes back down... he could just... just...

But, he was still wearing Lola's smile, and there was a crease in the pale forehead a few inches from his own - a crease in between Andrew's perfect blonde eyebrows. 

Maybe...

* * *

 

Maybe if Neil was in his right mind, he wouldn't have shared this story. Maybe if Neil had taken a sleeping tablet four days ago, he could have saved his Foxes from ever knowing these truths. Maybe this was all a mistake. 

Maybe his Foxes were stronger than he knew.

Maybe _Neil_ needed this. Maybe Neil needed to fall apart, so he could come back together again, in the arms of his family. 

 

* * *

 

"Talk," said Andrew.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Not dead >_< \- here's the 2nd chapter <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neil as a brave little 10 year old is a slightly unreliable narrator – he has, after all, only ever learnt what he’s been taught in Baltimore. He’s warring with who he thinks he is (a good person), and what people tell him he is/treat him like. So, watch out for Neil internalising all the bullshit fed to him by Literally Everyone In His Life. 
> 
> Also, major trigger warnings for torture and Lola torturing Nathaniel with blades (and in one instance, being really creepy in a Bad Touch-kind of way). More details in the end credits.

“Nothing.”

Her cold voice held no false-teasing, a sharp contrast to how it so often does in the presence of Father, and someone who has displeased him. Lola smiles and dons her madness when she has a challenge, when someone doubts her murderous abilities and is too stupid to realise what’s coming for them. Nathaniel knows exactly what Lola is capable of, and knows that he should be grateful Father doesn’t let her carve his limbs off like she _so_ loves to do. The truth is: Nathaniel bores her, which in turn makes her angry and willing to push the boundaries of what Father allows.

Kneeling before her, he could almost pretend Mother were next to him on the black-tiled floor, breathing words into his ear. Yet Mother could whisper that good boys were quiet and obedient all damn day; she could murmur false promises of ‘if you stand taller, learn quicker, show more respect – then it won’t hurt as bad’ _every day_ , and it wouldn’t make it true. Lola spends more time with him than anyone else, and she can see the truth… the filth of his soul that makes him bad… different and weak and _bad_ (aren’t I?).

“You are **Nothing**. You are not worthy of licking the dirt off my shoe.” Even with his eyes trained on the shiny floor, he could feel her eyes boring down on him with disgust: the sneer of her mouth, the coil of her muscles before she springs.

“ _Straighter,_ ” she screeched, with a sharp kick to his collar bone. Anticipating it, Nathaniel was only knocked back a few inches before he was back to his position, forcing his spine even straighter. Mother was always saying that his body is still young, bones still growing and more flexible, and therefore less likely to break. But, when he got older, he would have to be _better_ : with a blade, with instructions – with fighting and lying and ‘ _not antagonising people’_. The time taken for bones to heal is not a luxury Nathaniel will be afforded. Not anymore, that is (he can still remember the sickening crunch of his shoulder splintering, and the blood dripping down his chin as he bit through his lip to stifle screams… and Father, smiling down at him). Nathaniel suppressed a shiver.

Lessons with Lola were always like this – bend, obey, scream, ‘ _be better than the pathetic child you are’_. He tries, he does; he _really_ does try. He tries to hold back the tremors when Lola presses a blade into his hand and tells him to cut. He tries to supress that voice inside his head that screams that this is _wrong; run, run, just run away_.

Right now, he’s trying to remember if this lesson is supposed to be teaching him anything in particular, when Lola crouches down in front of him, and his heart stops. Terror pumps into his veins as she lifts his chin by the point of her blood red nail.

During lessons, Nathaniel is not permitted to look Lola in the eye, and inside he’s screaming and thrashing because this is bad. He’s done something _bad_ and now he’s going to be punished ( _God_! Why did I let myself get distracted? Don’t think. Learn. Obey. _Don’t think_ ).

Deceptively sweet, Lola’s voice thrums through him, “Are you listening to me, boy?”

He can’t look away and her nail is piercing the soft skin under his jaw; blood dripping down his small Adam’s apple. No doubt she can see the fear in his eyes, but Nathaniel hasn’t spent his whole life in her care to forget his lessons now. He keeps his expression impassive and locks their eyes, clenching his fists (safely folded behind his back) hard enough to pierce the skin with his own nails (pain to keep him grounded from the inevitability of more pain; his life is a never-ending confusing nightmare).

“Yes, Lola,” Nathaniel murmurs, moving his jaw as little as possible, voice never wavering. Whatever happens next, showing his fear will only make it worse. It’s his fault after all: he wasn’t listening, and Lola’s lessons make it very clear that he is Nothing and he must listen to her if he wants to learn (and therefore survive).

“You see, sweet child,” letting her voice soak with honey as she released her perfectly terrifying smile, “I don’t think you were.”

Nathaniel pushes his chest out as far as it will go, craning his neck, lengthening his back: pushing, pushing, always more more _more_ (not good enough, not enough; nothing, _Nothing_ ).

***

In stories, this would be when everything would cut to black. Stop the scene, close the book; skip to the aftermath and stitching sliced skin. Life is not a story.

***

She releases his jaw and steps back, but Nathaniel doesn’t move a muscle, only dropping his eyes to the floor.

Goosebumps raise his skin, and with the looming threat of Lola’s ferociousness, this is always the time when Nathaniel’s senses go into overdrive; the precious seconds before the pain… before his Lessons in Endurance. He feels the cold seep through his cotton pants, and were he alone, he would allow himself a shiver. Such is life, all he does is remain as still as Lola wants him to be ( _does_ she want that? What could her reason for doing this _possibly_ be? Why is it never ever enough?) and takes silent shallow breaths in the unfamiliar cloying, damp room.

Nathaniel being too weak-willed and pathetic to own the name Wesninski has been one of the main issues Lola has voiced (many times). He doesn’t want to be weak, but it’s so _hard_. Everyone in his life wants him to be something different. Mother wants him to stay quiet and obedient while she whispers tales of one day running away in his ear. Lola wants him to be fearless and wield a blade as powerfully as she does. She wants him to kill (… and she wants him to _like_ it). Well… that’s what she whispers to him when she taunts him anyway. That if he’d _stop being a pussy little bitch baby_ , he could follow on in his Father’s footsteps (he always ignores her laugh after she says that).

And… Father. Well, Father demands blood. He looks at the child he created with a sneer on his lips, disappointment and anger in his eyes… never expectation. Nathaniel doesn’t know what he _wants_.

Father barely tolerates Nathaniel’s face for evening dinner, where he is expected to behave impeccably. And he tries, _he tries_. For years, he’s tried to appease everyone, bend himself into a perfect boy, but it’s _never enough_.

It’s never enough.

Nathaniel is never enough… Lola’s right and Nathaniel is Nothing. 

***

…But not stupid. This he knows. When the ‘adults’ stride around the horror house he calls a home, he listens. When his Father takes a call and says ‘yes sir’. When his Mother is required to dress up and she yells at the housekeeping to make everything ‘perfect’. When a Japanese man with eyes as cold as Father’s strides into the house as if he owns it, with two boys trailing after him; one with a cruel smirk and one with arrogance draping over him like a cloak. Nathaniel may be Nothing… but he can anticipate a blow like there’s no tomorrow and can always sense when things in his life are about to go to shit.

***

Eyes trained on a strange drain in the middle of the floor, no more than ten seconds had passed. No one was coming. Nathaniel didn’t flinch when a shaft of reflected light struck his retinas, and he didn’t shudder when Lola raised the knife. Pain is inescapable and skin is for scarring. His last coherent thought before the blinding buzzing of sliced skin was the wish that these new cuts wouldn’t affect his game. He didn’t know how long Kevin and Riko would be here for, and their time was precious.

Nathaniel’s breathing grew heavier as Lola’s shadow covered him, and he fell on old instincts to protect his mind at the first touch of metal. This could have been a thousand other times, a thousand different days and blades and inches of his skin. The pressure and sting was the same though. No matter how far Nathaniel retreated into his own mind, keeping his body still and pliant, the pain never lessened any.

Lola released one of her unhinged grins and bent forward, trailing the burning hot blade from his stomach up to his shoulder. Blood welled and spilled over his thin stomach, and her terrifying face kept getting closer and closer, until he felt Lola’s tongue on his skin.

He wanted to throw up.

She stepped back, her shark teeth now covered in blood. It wasn’t an uncommon sight, but he’d never felt so unclean and bad and… he couldn’t look away.

“You know,” she said, licking the blood from her teeth, “I’m going to miss dulling my blades on your skin.”

And if _that_ wasn’t just the most horrifying thing he’d heard all day. Lola was one of, if not _the_ most trusted ally Father has, so _she_ wouldn’t be leaving any time soon… Which meant Father may have finally grown tired of housing his worthless son. Maybe Mother couldn’t make up excuses for him anymore.

But for frickin’ hell’s sake: he was _hurting_ ; he could feel his blood soak into the waistband of his pants and Lola’s saliva on his shoulder and he was _so confused_. No-one talks to him like a _person_ , and no-one will tell him what they goddamn _want_ from him. So how in the holy hell is he supposed to ‘ _be a good boy’_ when no-one is straight with him about what _exactly_ is expected from him?

He could feel his Father’s rage bubbling under the surface of his still kneeling body.

He had finally been allowed access to friends who share an actual _hobby_ with him. These past few days, playing exy with people _his own age_ \- simply for fun - have been… well, they’ve been heaven. Lessons are a given, and his days are a medley of stretched stitches, hiding, being caught, pain, (endless, endless, god, enough _enough_ , make it _stop_ ) and the occasional (sacred) reprieve with a trip to exy practices. But, two days ago, he was allowed _this_ : To play on an _actual Court…_ to be free _._

And now Lola wanted to cripple him. Stop him from doing the _one thing_ that lets a sliver of light into the darkness of his world. Something deep within him began to crack.

Slowly raising his gaze to meet hers, Nathaniel felt the false apathy he dons each morning fall away. In its place his anger flared, and his lip curled.

“Fuck you.”

Nathaniel said it with heat and power, condensing his hate for the monster in front of him into two tiny words. The fury in his blood sang, and even if he heard the quick inhale and saw the way her smile wrenched up a notch with vile glee, Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Feeling the low-level buzz of pain in his skin, Nathaniel knew he wasn’t strong enough to fight back… yet. The knowledge that if he clawed and fought his way into adulthood, he would have the chance to dole out some of the pain he has endured now was the one thought that latched itself in Nathaniel’s mind. Maybe Lola could bleed under _his_ blade for once.

He couldn’t regret what his disobedience would cost him; if Father was to finally kill him, like he had so many others, he would die with the sliver of defiance his Mother had instilled in him. This was a part of himself he was… proud of…maybe? Yes, proud. That’s the word for this feeling. After everything that has been done to him, taken from him, he will always have Abram.

As Lola’s blade tugged on his skin and more scars in-waiting were branded into his skin, he wondered if this was part of His plan; part of his parenting. Act disinterested and disgusted, but then start paying attention later… when (if) he proved himself.

Nathaniel used to look up at his bedroom ceiling and wonder if he was missing something; if He was treating him like this only because He was waiting for him to start acting like His heir… like a son who could be raised to… I don’t know…

Does everyone really want Nathaniel to just kneel here and take it?

Should he start… fighting back?

(please, I need help. i don’t want to be _him_. i can’t. please don’t make me into something I don’t want to be)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not sure about canon, but in my story, Lola is very much involved in Neil's childhood. And he has 'lessons' with her, and in some of them (^^this one) she uses knives to cut him, while making it known she thinks he deserves it. At one point in this fic, when she cuts Neil, she licks the blood off him.
> 
> Hi guys, so this took me more than a year to get this chapter up (whoops) – the perils of starting a story in one mind-set – then trying to finish it in another >_<. Ah well, I hope it didn’t turn out too disastrously with the shift in tone. Please leave a comment if you like it, or if there are any mistakes, spelling or otherwise :)
> 
> I'm thinking there's going to be another 2?? chapters after this - i mean, the flashback was supposed to be all one chapter, but I wanted to just put up what I've got so far - so yeah, another chapter in the flashback, then a final one in present day. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://dreams-of-andreil.tumblr.com/post/157696702154/cracked-but-not-smashed-davinadil-all-for-the)
> 
> This is my first proper fanfic on AO3, and I know everyone (Neil) is a bit OOC here, but I reckon practice makes perfect and all that jazz..
> 
> ...THANK YOU FOR READING!!


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